13. Roman #3
And just like that, Cassie is gone and Ms. Monroe has taken her place—professional, composed, and distinctly off-limits during business hours.
I watch her leave with the unsettling feeling that the lines we've so carefully drawn are blurring in ways neither of us anticipated.
Board meeting days at Elysian follow a precise choreography.
I arrive first, well before anyone else, to review materials and ensure the boardroom is prepared to my exacting standards.
Zara follows thirty minutes later with a final agenda and any last-minute updates.
Board members begin filtering in around eight, with the meeting starting precisely at eight thirty.
Today that choreography is disrupted by Maxwell Grant's early arrival.
"Roman." He extends his hand, smile as artificial as everything else about him. "It's been too long."
I grip his hand with calculated firmness, neither too aggressive nor too yielding. "Maxwell. This is unexpected."
"Is it?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I thought Zara would have informed you of my attendance."
"Your attendance, yes. Your early arrival, no." I gesture to the boardroom. "But since you're here, perhaps we can discuss why you've suddenly developed an interest in our Creative Director."
No point in dancing around it. Grant respects directness, even as he avoids it himself.
"Cassandra Monroe?" He affects surprise poorly. "Impressive talent. I had no idea you were developing such innovative vision at Lumière."
"Cut the shit, Maxwell. What's your angle?" I keep my voice low, aware of the early-arriving executives in the lobby.
He laughs, the sound as hollow as his ethics. "Always so suspicious, Roman. Can't one businessman simply appreciate another's creative team?"
"Not when that businessman has spent a decade trying to dismantle said team."
Grant leans against the boardroom table, entirely too comfortable in my space. "Water under the bridge, surely. We were young, ambitious. Things got... competitive."
"You call stealing my fiancée 'competitive'?"
"Catherine made her own choices." His smile turns smug. "Just as Ms. Monroe will make hers."
There it is—the threat wrapped in casual conversation. I fight the urge to grab him by his custom-tailored lapels and physically remove him from my building.
"If you approach Cassie with anything less than professional courtesy, I'll?—"
"You'll what?" Grant interrupts, his eyes gleaming with interest. "'Cassie,' is it? Not 'Ms. Monroe'? How... familiar."
Fuck. A rookie mistake, revealing the personal connection through a casual use of her first name. Grant pounces on it like the predator he is.
"Interesting," he continues, studying me with renewed intensity. "I'd heard rumors, of course, but I didn't think you'd be quite so... transparent about it."
"There's nothing to be transparent about," I keep my voice level through sheer force of will. "Ms. Monroe is a valued member of the Elysian team."
"Of course she is." Grant nods with exaggerated understanding. "And I'm sure the board would agree that your personal relationship with her doesn't influence her position at all."
The implied threat hangs in the air between us. Grant hasn't simply come to poach Cassie—he's come to use her as leverage. Against me. Against Elysian.
"Whatever you think you know—" I begin, but I'm interrupted by the arrival of the CFO and several board members.
"Roman! Maxwell!" Charles Whitaker, our longest-serving board member, approaches with outstretched hands. "What a pleasant surprise to see you both getting along."
Grant shifts seamlessly into his public persona. "Just catching up on old times, Charles. Roman and I go way back."
"That we do," I agree, my smile as false as his. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on some last-minute preparations."
I retreat to my office, needing a moment to compose myself before facing the full board—and Cassie. Grant's appearance is no coincidence, and his interest in her is clearly more than professional talent scouting.
The question is: how much does he actually know about our relationship? And how far is he willing to go to use it against me?
Zara appears in my doorway, her expression carefully neutral. "The board is assembled, sir. And Ms. Monroe has arrived with the presentation materials."
"Thank you, Zara. I'll be right there." I straighten my tie, mentally shifting into CEO mode. "Has Grant approached her yet?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir." Zara hesitates, then adds, "Though he did watch her rather... intently when she entered the lobby."
Of course he did. Grant never misses an opportunity to assess potential leverage.
"Keep an eye on him," I instruct. "If he approaches Ms. Monroe, I want to know immediately."
"Of course, sir." Zara's tone remains professional, but there's a knowing quality to her expression that confirms my earlier suspicion—she's well aware of what's happening between Cassie and me.
I head to the boardroom, game face firmly in place. Whatever Grant's playing at, I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
The room falls quiet as I enter, all eyes turning to me—including a pair of green ones that I've seen in much less professional circumstances less than two hours ago.
Cassie sits near the far end of the table, portfolio open before her, looking every inch the accomplished Creative Director.
Nothing in her demeanor suggests she woke up in my bed this morning.
Nothing except the tiny constellation tattoo visible on her upper chest as she gestures toward a concept board—the same chest I'd kissed while pinning her hands above her head last night.
I force my thoughts away from that particularly dangerous path.
"Good morning, everyone," I begin, taking my seat at the head of the table. "Before we get to our regular agenda, I'd like to acknowledge our guest today. Maxwell Grant of Grant Industries has requested to discuss potential collaboration opportunities."
Grant inclines his head, smiling that shark smile. "Thank you for the warm welcome, Roman. I'm particularly looking forward to hearing about Lumière's rebranding strategy. I understand Ms. Monroe has developed quite the innovative approach."
All eyes turn to Cassie, who handles the sudden attention with perfect composure. "We're excited about Lumière's new direction," she says simply. "I'll be presenting the full concept during the creative portion of the agenda."
"Looking forward to it," Grant replies, his gaze lingering on her a beat too long.
I clear my throat. "Let's proceed with new business as noted on the agenda first.”
The meeting progresses according to agenda, with Cassie's presentation scheduled right before lunch. She delivers it flawlessly, explaining her vision for Lumière with a confidence and clarity that impresses even the most skeptical board members.
Grant watches her with undisguised interest, occasionally making notes that I'd give considerable sums to read. When she finishes, he's the first to applaud.
"Remarkable work, Ms. Monroe," he says, his voice carrying across the table. "Truly visionary. You've captured exactly what modern luxury consumers are seeking—authenticity with elegance."
"Thank you, Mr. Grant," Cassie responds politely but professionally.
"I wonder," Grant continues, "if you might be willing to discuss your approach in more detail? Perhaps over lunch?"
And there it is—the move I've been expecting all morning.
"Ms. Monroe has a prior commitment during lunch," I interject before she can respond. "Perhaps another time."
Grant's eyebrows rise slightly. "I wasn't aware you managed Ms. Monroe's calendar personally, Roman." He turns back to Cassie. "Do you require your CEO's permission for lunch meetings, Ms. Monroe?"
It's a deliberate provocation, designed to make me look controlling and Cassie look subordinate. Judging by the subtle shifts around the boardroom table, it's working.
Cassie handles it with far more grace than I could manage. "While I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Grant, I do have a previous commitment today." Her smile is professional but cool. "I'm meeting my sister, who has an internship interview with our program."
"Family first—I completely understand." Grant's smile never wavers. "Perhaps breakfast tomorrow? I have some thoughts about potential synergies between our organizations that might interest you."
Before I can intervene again—which would only make the situation worse—Cassie responds.
"Breakfast works," she says with perfect professional courtesy. "I can meet you at eight."
"Excellent." Grant looks far too pleased with himself. "I'll have my assistant send you the details."
I maintain my composure as the meeting wraps up through sheer force of will, but inside I'm seething.
Not at Cassie—she handled the situation perfectly, maintaining professional appearances while establishing her autonomy.
No, my anger is directed entirely at Grant and his transparent attempt to use her against me.
As the meeting adjourns for lunch, Grant approaches Cassie again. I remain at the boardroom table, watching them interact from a distance that feels both professional and torturous.
"Ms. Monroe," I call as their conversation concludes. "A moment before you leave?"
She excuses herself from Grant and approaches my end of the table, her expression giving nothing away. "Yes, Mr. Kade?"
"The Milan supplier issues we discussed yesterday," I say, loud enough for lingering board members to hear. "Have they been resolved?"
"Not entirely. I'll email you the details this afternoon." Her voice is steady, professional, revealing none of the intimacy we shared just hours ago.
"Thank you." I gather my materials, fighting the urge to say more. To warn her about Grant. To apologize for intervening earlier. To ask her what he said in their brief conversation.
Instead, I simply nod. "Good work on the presentation."
"Thank you, sir." She turns to leave, then pauses.
"About that previous commitment tonight..."
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
She meets my gaze evenly, but her fingers are already moving—subtle, practiced. A second later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down.
Cassie Monroe:
Something’s come up. I need a little space tonight- I need some time to think about things- about us. Hope you understand.
The message is clear.
Even couched in polite, professional language, she’s pulling back.
"I may need to reschedule," she says aloud, voice smooth. "Something’s come up."
I nod once, cool and unreadable.
"Not a problem, Ms. Monroe. We can address those matters another time."
She gives nothing away—no hesitation, no regret—as she turns and walks out of the boardroom with the same confident stride that caught my attention in the first place, several weeks ago.
But as the door closes behind her, I stare at the message again?—
and wonder what exactly she's trying to run from.
I'm still watching the door when Grant reappears beside me.
"Quite the talent you've discovered," he observes, his tone deceptively casual. "Creative. Bold. Independent. Not your usual type, Roman."
"What exactly are you implying, Maxwell?" I keep my voice low, aware of stragglers still gathering materials.
"Nothing at all." His smile is all false innocence. "Just noting that Ms. Monroe seems like someone who makes her own decisions. Unlike Catherine, who was always looking for... guidance."
The mention of Catherine's name is deliberate—a reminder of past wounds, past failures. I resist the bait.
"Whatever game you're playing, leave my team out of it." I gather my papers with deliberate calm. "This is between you and me."
"On the contrary," Grant says, dropping all pretense now that we're alone. "Your team is precisely the point. Particularly Ms. Monroe, who I suspect is far more than just a Creative Director to you."
I meet his gaze directly. "Tread carefully, Maxwell. You're making accusations without evidence, based on nothing but your own twisted perception."
"Am I?" He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. "Then you won't mind if I offer her a position at Grant Industries. Creative freedom. Double her current salary. VP of Creative Direction."
The offer is outrageous—deliberately so. Not because he actually wants her talent, but because he wants to prove his point: that I care too much about her decision.
"Ms. Monroe is free to consider any offer she receives," I say with a calm I don't feel. "Though I doubt she'd be interested in working for someone with your reputation."
"We'll see." Grant's smile turns predatory. "Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what a talented person needs. Especially when their current situation becomes... complicated."
He leaves me standing alone in the boardroom, the implied threat hanging in the air. Grant isn't just after Cassie's talent—he's after proof of our relationship, proof he can use to undermine me with the board, with shareholders, with the industry at large.
And he's willing to use Cassie as a pawn to get it.
I return to my office, instructing Zara to hold all calls. Once alone, I allow myself a moment of pure, uncensored frustration—slamming my hand on my desk with enough force to send a stack of reports sliding to the floor.
This was precisely what I feared. Grant using Cassie to get to me. Using our relationship—whatever it is—as leverage.
And the worst part? I can't even warn her properly without admitting how much her decision matters to me. Without revealing that somewhere between that first accidental text and this morning, she's become more than an arrangement. More than a convenient distraction.
She's become something I'm terrified to lose.
I straighten my tie, pick up the scattered reports, and attempt to focus on the afternoon's meetings. But my mind keeps circling back to the same troubling questions:
What will Grant offer Cassie tomorrow?
What will he tell her about me, about our history?
And most importantly—what will she believe?
Because despite my carefully constructed walls, despite the "arrangement" we agreed to, despite every professional boundary we've established—the thought of Cassie walking away feels like losing something essential. Something I never intended to risk in the first place.
My heart.